


An Unlikely Pair

by We_Band_of_Buggered



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angst, Existential Crises, M/M, Moral Dilemmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:39:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9147094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/We_Band_of_Buggered/pseuds/We_Band_of_Buggered
Summary: In which Wesley's relationship with Lilah is in fact a relationship with Lindsey. More to follow.





	

The phrase _An Unlikely Pair_ was an understatement. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce: demon hunter, white hat, crusader against evil. As challenging—as downright horrendous—as things had been lately, Wesley remained a man who preferred his morals strong, aligned, no action committed whose ultimate consequence wouldn’t be one of good, even if good intentions later turned to ashes. And then there was Lindsey McDonald: defender of the guilty, an evil law firm’s golden boy, crusader against those who fought against evil—like Wesley and his (former) friends.

Yet here they were. In bed together.

Wesley was learning that nothing in this world was black or white, but still he quietly longed for the days when he’d believed otherwise. In those days, Wesley had been good and Lindsey had been bad. They each would have scoffed at the notion of sharing a smile, sharing a drink, sharing a bed, but as the years went on they both fell through the cracks of their organisations—the one that was mostly good, the one that was mostly bad. Wesley’s recent actions had tarred him somehow, had left him alone and lodged somewhere between black and white, caught in an inexplicable shade of grey from which he doubted he would ever return. Lindsey had betrayed his evil employer mildly enough to remain in its ranks, but often enough that he too was caught between two lives. Wesley could see the good in him. Lindsey could see the darkness in Wesley.

Wesley was dreaming again.

He dreamed of the hotel, the doors closing behind him, his heart aching with every beat, the punch he threw at a friend. He dreamed of night, of trees swaying gently in the wind, their shadows turned to gruesome beasts that growled and grabbed at him. He dreamed of the moonlight on the blade of the knife, and the sharp and awful difference between a baby’s weight in his arms, and emptiness.

When he woke with a start, Lindsey’s hand was on his chest.

“Jeez,” Lindsey said, keeping his hand on Wesley, “You don’t sleep easy, do you?” Wesley, his mind still thick with fatigue and reeling from the nightmare, pushed Lindsey’s hand sharply away. Lindsey held both hands up, as if in self-defence. “Hey, I’m just saying.”

“I like you better when you’re saying nothing,” Wesley said, pulling himself slowly upright.

“Well then,” Lindsey smirked, “I’d say you should make me shut up but, frankly, you just don’t look up to it.”

“Then leave,” Wesley snapped. He didn’t bring his eyes to Lindsey, instead focussing on a wall on the other side of the room, turning his body away from the other man, willing him to forgo his usual stubbornness and simply let Wesley be alone.

He didn’t. The walls were suddenly closing in, the room too small and the air too thick for two living things to be there at once. Wesley had grown so used to being alone more often than not, so accustomed to never needing to compromise his needs for others’, to never having to contend with anyone else’s obsessive need to press at his stinging wounds.

“What do you dream about?” Lindsey asked. When Wesley said nothing, Lindsey went on. “It’s them, isn’t it? Your old, rag tag gang.” He said it with the ghost of a smile on his face, but when Wesley turned to face him once more, he found something darker in Lindsey’s eyes—an inexplicable sadness.

“Yes,” he replied flatly, “My _gang._ From my days of having _friends_ , a _family_. Forgive me for missing it on occasion. Wouldn’t you?” Lindsey winced. Wesley hadn’t meant to be so cutting, hadn’t intended what they both heard next, silent and ghoulish. _If only you’d ever had friends like that._ Lindsey’s eyes dropped. If Wesley had to assign a colour to pain, to gut wrenching sadness and all-consuming loss, it would be the specific blue of Lindsey’s eyes. There was a pain in him that was, at times, horrendously striking. He supposed it was something they had in common, and his guilt deepened swiftly. A sharp sigh escaped him and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” Lindsey said, distracted, swinging his legs out of the bed to pull on his boxers and jeans. “You’re probably right. Only thing is, if this is your life now, you better get used to being lonely. No one’s coming to save you.”

“I’m not always lonely,” Wesley said, and Lindsey turned to meet his eye. He gave an easier smile this time.

“Me neither,” he said, and there was enough air for both of them again, enough room in the apartment, in the bed. Lindsey took a deep breath, and Wesley felt the weight of his words before he spoke them. “Sometimes I wonder.”

“Wonder?”

“What it would be like, you know? To do what _you_ do, to fight for what you fight for.”

 _Survival is all I fight for now,_ Wesley thought.

“What do you want to fight for?” Wesley said. Lindsey scoffed.

“Sometimes I don’t even know,” he admitted, “Wolfram and Hart have it all worked out. If they want you, they know how to get you. If they want to keep you, they know how to make you scared, terrified they might actually want you dead. And if they want you dead…”

“You’ve seen them kill,” Wesley said. Lindsey closed his eyes, but a moment later they snapped open again. Wesley could have sworn there was something different about them then. He’d relived something. They were here, together and alone and safe, and Lindsey had left for less than a second, and it was enough to leave him trembling. Wesley was certain he was trembling. “You once thought of getting out,” Wesley reminded him, “Would you ever reconsider?” Lindsey shot him a bitter look.

“Wolfram and Hart?” he scoffed, “It’s not the kind of place you get out of. It’s the kind of place that swallows you whole, that takes your soul and never plans on giving it back, no matter what they tell you when you sign the contract.”

“As far as I understand it,” Wesley shifted, “they don’t _literally_ take your soul.” It wasn’t really a question, but he left the words to hang between them nonetheless, free for Lindsey to address or ignore as he saw fit. Wesley felt a deeper truth rising within him, a barrage of sentiment that thrummed in his veins, that tried to push its way from his mind to his lips, to Lindsey himself. _I know they haven’t taken your soul. I’ve seen it in you._

Wesley said nothing more.

 

 


End file.
